“NO!”

  Chentelle’s eyes snapped open. A cloud of blackness floated above her bedroll, illuminated by the fierce glow of Dacius’s sword. Tendrils of shadow shot forward, piercing her chest and head.

  Cold! Ice formed around her heart. She couldn’t move, couldn’t scream. The cold ripped through her, filling every part of her flesh. She was sinking into a frozen lake, a lake of death.

  Without interest, she noted a flash of light and a roar like thunder. It didn’t matter. All was numbness. The world was ice.

  Ahh! Something hot burned into her forehead. It hurt! It was bright and hot and—wonderful! She grabbed hold of the glow, willing it to spread through her body. The icy darkness retreated, unable to withstand the light.

  The shadow fled Chentelle’s body, pouring out of her mouth and her eyes. It hovered above her, a seething hole in the midnight air. A glowing sword leaped from her forehead, tearing through the darkness. Blue sparks crackled through the void, and the Ill-creature vanished with a childlike wail.

  Sulmar crouched in front of her, eyes searching the darkness.

  “Wraiths!” A’stoc stepped toward the center of the camp, surrounded in the green flame of Earthpower. “Beware! We are under attack!”

  Chentelle scrambled to her feet. Orb-light erupted all around. She heard the panicked neighs and the rumble of hoofbeats. Someone screamed from the other side of camp, but the sound cut off in a gurgle of blood. Misshapen dark forms with gleaming claws and pale yellow eyes slouched into the camp. Vikhors!

  Kruzel’s Legionnaires retreated before them, using spears and swords to ward off the Ill-creatures’ claws. One man parried too slowly, and a gleaming claw sliced and ripped his arm from its socket. He collapsed in a fountain of blood, screaming horribly until a second claw removed his throat.

  “Drup! Sulmar! Follow me!” Dacius charged forward, grabbing his sword as he passed.

  A’stoc was there before them. He waded into the vikhors, wielding the flaming Thunderwood like a quarterstaff. The Ill-creatures burned to ash at the Staff’s touch.

  Growling with rage, four of the vikhors hurled themselves at the wizard. But they could not penetrate his fiery shield, which he moved with considerable mechanical skill. It was actually a better weapon than a vorpal sword! One by one, he obliterated them with the Staff.

  Sulmar and the Legionnaires met the remaining vikhors with glowing steel. They drove through the Ill-creatures’ center, relieving the pressure on the cavalrymen.

  But the defenders were still outnumbered five to one. The vikhors surrounded them, howling and slavering in anticipation.

  A chain of yellow lightning shot around the perimeter, tearing through the orb-lights. The round crystals exploded, plunging the hilltop into darkness.

  A pillar of fire shot into the air, filling the countryside with light. A’stoc swept the Staff before him, and an arc of flame scythed through the vikhors, destroying half of them.

  Chentelle heard a strangled cry behind her. She spun around.

  A shadow of absolute darkness was driving into Councilor A’rullen’s chest. The old wizard was withering before her eyes, becoming a shriveled, lifeless husk. Three more of the wraiths were flickering toward them.

  Chentelle called on her Gift. She sang a song of warmth and light, a song of nature and growth. She filled her voice with the joy of communion and the heat of the Golden Sun.

  All four wraiths instantly charged her.

  Councilor A’rullen dropped to the ground, discarded in the Ill-creatures’ lust for her warmth.

  Chentelle cut off her song, frozen with sudden terror. What could she do? The shadows closed like lightning, much faster than she could run. Tendrils of ice reached toward her heart.

  She screamed. A single note tore from her throat, driven by desperation. She filled it with the one thing that had saved her before, the burning brilliance of the vorpal sword. She latched on to the memory of that light and poured it into her song.

  The wraiths stopped. They floated less than an arm’s reach away from her, neither advancing nor retreating. Shadowy fingers danced in front of her eyes, searching for an opening in her barrier of sound.

  Chentelle knew it was only a matter of time. This was not a melody she could renew and sustain. She was holding a single desperate note. Already she could feel her voice faltering.

  One of the wraiths pressed forward, sensing her weakness.

  A glowing star slashed through the darkness, striking the center of the wraith. The Ill-creature exploded in a shower of sparks.

  The star hung in the air, spinning rapidly. Then it shot sideways, destroying another shadow. The last two fell in quick succession, vanishing just as Chentelle reached the limit of her air.

  Councilor A’valman ran forward to check on A’rullen, and the vorpal star drifted back and hovered obediently above his shoulder.

  Hollow laughter rang through the night. The necromancer stood on a hilltop behind them, leaning against the trunk of a solitary oak.

  A’valman pointed, and the vorpal star shot through the night like a miniature comet.

  A crackling bolt of yellow lightning met it halfway, shattering the blade into a thousand fiery slivers.

  A’valman clutched his head and fell to the earth.

  “Bone!” A’stoc waved a hand contemptuously, and the last vikhor was consumed by a jet of flame. He marched to the crown of the hill, still surrounded by the pillar of green flame.

  The Ill-creature didn’t move. His eyes gleamed evilly from beneath the tree’s branches, as if daring A’stoc to attack. Once again, the necromancer’s laughter floated toward them.

  Suddenly, the pillar of flame disappeared, casting them into darkness. A moment later there was a flash of light. A sphere of flame shot through the air and crashed into the far hilltop. The oak burst into flames, casting a flickering light over the prairie. There was no sign of Bone.

  A’stoc muttered a spell and a teardrop of flame dripped from the mandril wand. It fell to the ground and burned brightly, illuminating the hilltop.

  The smoking remains of vikhors littered the camp, but they had not died alone. Two of Kruzel’s cavalrymen had died beneath their claws. A’valman and A’rullen would recover quickly with rest, but the two sentries were not so lucky. Their bodies were desiccated husks, drained of life by the wraith.

  “They were good men. Good men! They didn’t deserve this.” Commander Kruzel stared at the bodies, rage trembling in his hands and voice. He turned to A’stoc. “Pry open the vault, wizard. Give me a weapon that can kill that bastard!”

  Drup knelt beside one of the bodies. “I think this one sounded the alarm. Without him, we might not have beaten back the attack.” He reached down to close the sentry’s eyes. The flesh crumbled to dust under his fingers, and he jumped away.

  “This was not the attack,” A’stoc said. “He was only testing our strength.”

  The others stared at him. This had been a mere preliminary? Chentelle felt despair. How would they ever survive the serious siege, when it came?

  16

  Covenant’s Keep

  Shortly after noon on their third day on the road, the company reached the fringe of the Desecration. It was visible a half league away, a black scar stretching into the horizon. The sight sent a mixture of dread and relief through the party: relief because it meant they were near to their destination, dread because the barren landscape seemed to promise that the worst lay yet before them.

  For Chentelle, it was a vision of sadness. From a mile away, desolation screamed to her. The Desecration Fault was a gravestone, marking the death of the land itself. She had seen too many graves since she left home, too many funerals. Captain Rone, Alve, Simon—the images rose in her mind, a grim procession of death. Lilies grew around the rich soil of Brother Gorin’s grave; prairie grass around the simple holes they had dug for the Legion cavalrymen. Yet they were the same. She had seen wonders and horrors and mysteries beyond counting since she set out to follow her Dream, but it was the graves that haunted her most.

  And now she was riding into the largest grave of all. The agony of the land hit her as soon as she crossed the threshold. Worse than the pain of the Treachery’s wood, worse than the dust of Kennaru’s ancient city, this was the death of the world. No plant, no bird, no beast or bug could live on this land. Water neither fell here as rain nor existed hidden below the surface, not even if one sank a shaft to the center of the world. The ground was bare rock, covered by the chalky dust that had once been fertile soil.

  A wave of dizziness threatened to topple her from Sundancer’s back. She clutched the mare’s mane desperately, terrified of falling to the ground. She couldn’t face that, not yet. She stifled a cry, focusing all her will on Sundancer’s solid presence. The dizziness passed, and she pulled herself back to a secure seat.

  “Mistress, are you all right?”

  She was suddenly the focus of dozens of concerned eyes. “Fine. I’ll be fine.” Her voice was weak and full of tremors. She knew she had to regain control.

  Chentelle ordered herself to let go of Sundancer’s mane. The scream of the Desecration grew louder as her attention left the mare. She ignored it. She clamped down on her Gift, locking it inside, shielding it from the pain. She forced herself to see only with her eyes, hear only with her ears. The scream faded into nothingness.

  She bounced awkwardly on Sundancer’s back, and the mare snuffled in surprise at her clumsiness. She felt very alone. She could see her friends, but she couldn’t feel them. She had no idea what they were feeling or needing. She scanned their faces, trying to deduce what should have been obvious.

  The Legionnaires seemed edgy, especially Dacius and Kruzel. They kept turning their heads and scanning the wasteland, as if expecting a hidden foe to materialize from the dust. Councilor A’rullen looked exhausted. He had not yet recovered all of his strength from the wraith’s attack. A’valman stared intently at A’stoc, but his expression was unreadable. And A’stoc didn’t notice; his eyes were focused far in the distance. It wasn’t difficult to guess the subject of his thoughts. That left only Sulmar, who met her gaze calmly and without expression.

  The horses stepped nervously through the dust and broken stone, and Kruzel kept their pace light. He veered northward, leaving the Old Western Road and leading them toward a ridge of bare rock mountains. Within minutes, the ruins of Covenant’s Keep came into view.

  The remains of shattered battlements littered the hillside. Not a wall remained more than a few cubits high, as if the fortress had been swept aside by a giant hand. Dry dust smothered the rubble, painting the scene in monochrome gray.

  “Stand and identify yourselves!”

  Kruzel snapped upright in his saddle. “Lakey, is that you? Thank the Creator, I was afraid the necromancer had been here.”

  “Necromancer? What are you talking about, Commander?”

  “Not now.” Kruzel kicked his mount forward. “Spread the word, I want a command meeting in the main tent as soon as possible.”

  They rode through an opening in the foundation that might have been a gate. Several large tents dominated the interior, painted boldly in the black and tan of Tel Adartak. The largest tent had open ends and was obviously being used as a makeshift stable. They quickly dismounted and secured the horses.

  “All men are on stable duty until further notice.” Kruzel motioned for the rest of them to follow him. “Feed, water, and loving care are the order of the day. Treat them well, boys, they deserve it.”

  Chentelle had not dismounted with the rest. She cringed, now, at the thought of touching this earth. Slowly, she lowered her feet to the dust and stone. Her feet tingled slightly, but that was all. She still had her Gift contained. Sighing with relief, she hurried after Commander Kruzel.

  He led them to the entrance of the next largest tent and paused. “Councilor A’rullen, the command is yours, now. My charge was only to deliver you safely. But I strongly suggest you listen to the counsel of Lord Gemine and his fellows.”

  “I thank you, Commander,” A’rullen said. “Both for your wisdom and valor in bringing us here and for your sage advice, which I will certainly heed.”

  They entered the tent and were greeted by three figures. The first was a young human with dark skin and an easy smile. The other two were dwarves, little more than two cubits tall and nearly as wide. They wore mirrored suits of green and gold silk, embroidered with threads of spun platinum. Each had a belt of silver link from which hung a large pouch and a small, flat drum. Like the colored silks, the arrangements of pouch and drum mirrored each other. Rubies sparkled in the green-dyed beard of one, while emeralds shone in the stiff red whiskers of the other. Both wore caps of finely worked gold, which they removed respectfully as they bowed to the newcomers.

  “May I present the brothers Fel and Fen,” A’rullen said. “They are the engineers in charge of the excavation. Yeoman Jarl commands the mission guards.”

  A’rullen made quick introductions and then told Jarl and the dwarves about Bone and the attack on their camp. The dwarves were horrified to learn of the destruction of the bridge, but it was the news of Bone’s impersonation that stunned Jarl.

  “How long?” the yeoman said. “How many times did I stand next to him and never see him for what he was?”

  “Do not blame yourself,” A’rullen said. “More experienced eyes than yours were taken in by his deception. Now I suggest a short rest to recover from the road before we examine the vault.”

  “No,” A’stoc said. “We must attempt the opening immediately. The necromancer will attack tonight.”

  “How can you be certain?” A’valman asked. “How do you know that his earlier attack was only a test?”

  “Do you think that he would sacrifice his entire force just to destroy your toy star?” A’stoc sneered. “Think. Where was the dragon? Why did the necromancer hold back from the battle? Because he was gauging our strength. The true attack will come tonight. He does not dare wait longer.”

  “But why did he wait at all?” Chentelle asked. “Why didn’t he attack again while we were on the road? It doesn’t make sense. We’ll be stronger if we reach A’kalendane’s workshop, but the vorpal weapons are no use to Ill-creatures.”

  “Perhaps he has human allies.”

  All eyes turned to Sulmar, surprised at his sudden loquaciousness, but he did not elaborate further.

  “Why does not matter,” A’stoc said. “The fact remains.”

  A’rullen nodded. “Master A’stoc is right. We must be prepared for the worst.” He turned to Fen and Fel. “Please take us to the vault.”

  “I will stay here,” Jarl said. “I must prepare my men.”

  The brothers led them to the center of the keep’s foundation. A gaping shaft opened into the rock, cordoned off by a rope barrier. More ropes dropped down the center of the shaft, attached to large winches. A set of narrow stairs spiraled down the edge of the pit, and the dwarves paused at their head.

  “There’s no rail,” Fel said, or was it Fen?

  “So don’t fall,” the other completed.

  That said, they marched quickly down the stairs.

  Chentelle had no great fear of heights, but the stairway made her uneasy. She stayed close to the wall, yet the gaping emptiness to her left kept pulling her eye. The stonework was magnificent, hard granite polished as smooth as marble and lit with orb-light, but the narrow steps and shallow drops matched poorly with her stride. After one turn around the shaft, the stairway was covered by the bottom side of the steps above. The ceiling was actually high enough for even A’stoc to stand erect, but Chentelle’s eyes were not convinced by such logic. She had to fight the unreasoning urge to duck her head.

  After several turns down the shaft, the stairs ended in a circular chamber. Several large buckets sat in the center of the room, attached to the ends of the ropes from above. A dark tunnel branched from the room, supported by huge stone buttresses.

  A basin in one wall held a collection of flattened adartak circles. Each of the dwarves grabbed one and fitted it into a brace on his cap. A quick incantation later the crystals glowed with orb-light. It illuminated everything, but the gold caps somehow focused the light particularly to the front. One of the brothers led the way down the tunnel, while the other took the rear.

  The tunnel ran for perhaps forty cubits and then ended suddenly at a large hole in the floor. An iron ladder poked up through the hole, and the lead dwarf scrambled quickly down it. One by one the company followed him, illuminated by the shaft of orb-light from his helm.

  Chentelle found the ladder unwieldy. Like the stairs, its drop was too short for her to step smoothly and too long to take two rungs at a time. Despite the shallowness of the steps, she was surprised to count more than thirty of them before she reached the bottom. The climb took all of her attention, so it wasn’t until she stepped down onto the floor that she took note of her surroundings.

  They were in a large, rectangular chamber. The stonework here was coarse and uneven, nothing at all like the smooth, straight sides of the tunnel and stairs above. These walls seemed to have been chiseled with rough, almost savage strokes. Something on the far wall gleamed in the orb-light: chains. Large iron fetters, covered with rust, hung from the stone. Two of them held skeletons.

  The bones were manlike but twice the size of any human. No, they weren’t really manlike. The massive jaws were elongated and filled with the sharp, widely spaced teeth of a carnivore. And the hands had four fingers, two of which seemed to be thumbs. There were three bones in the forearm, and other differences in the rib cage and legs.

  “What are they?” she asked.

  “Trolls,” Fen said, or maybe Fel. “The keep was theirs before Lars Covenant took it during the war. This room was walled up from the outside. Old Lars probably didn’t even know it was here.”

  “We think it was a ritual burial chamber,” continued the other brother. “Haven’t figured out what the chains were for, though.”

  Chentelle stared at the skeletons. “And you just left them here?”